


baby, here's to love

by wildcard_47



Category: Frasier (TV)
Genre: AU!Daphne, Coming Out, M/M, Multi, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 13:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12433734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: Niles had never shared his life with a woman who captivated him both physically and mentally, and had always chalked this up to bad luck. But then he met Daphne Moon - his father’s handsome, masculine physical therapist.





	baby, here's to love

 

1993

 

All his life, Niles had endured the same rumors, but he’d always brushed them off like little unwanted dust flecks.

_Fag. Queer. Homo._

In hindsight, it was obvious those rumors were grounded in typical insecurities about male virility and masculinity. His classmates didn’t pick fights or shut him into lockers because they were jealous of his academic prospects, or his wardrobe, or because he enjoyed a good staging of _The Magic Flute_.

They tormented him out of fear.

Fear of being ostracized by one’s peers, perhaps, or fear of being shown up by a quote-unquote weaker man. They tormented him to distract themselves from the terror of their own pubescence. Back then, unruly teenage bodies had betrayed them all at a moment’s notice—or even worse, while a girl was watching. The taunts were about proving something esoteric, so secretive they could not have even named it.

These were all normal parts of maturation men sustained as they moved into adulthood. And if Niles had never been able to share in the easy male camaraderie that followed, if he had never met a woman who captivated him both physically and mentally, he’d always chalked that up to bad luck.

And then he met Daphne.

 

**

 

He’d opened the door in the middle of the interview.

At the dining room table, Dad and Frasier faced an unknown person – a young man clad in a leather jacket and what appeared to be faded denim dungarees.

“I’m so sorry,” Frasier was sputtering. “It’s just—the name on your resume—and—and the profession—well, naturally, I just assumed you were—”

“A pretty girl.”

“Dad!”

“Oh, it’s quite all right.” The stranger’s voice had an easy, cheerful lilt—English, definitely. Northerner, perhaps? “M’ given name’s really Daniel, but I’ve gone by Daphne all my life, so it happens all the time. Just blame my sisters; I’m the youngest of nine. Eight girls and me. Isn’t that a laugh?”

Frasier’s expression had turned stymied. “Oh, my.”

“Played four sports in school, so you could always hear my family shouting—knock ‘im out, Daphne! Kick his teeth in, Daphne! They weren’t too keen on having a younger brother at first, but I turned out dead useful in the end.”

Frasier seemed horrified. Dad looked thrilled.

“Hey, is that why you got into physical therapy?”

“Oh, yes! M’ oldest sisters were always sneaking out to see their terrible boyfriends, needin’ someone to patch them up if they fell off the roof. And then once I was old enough, the scrapes my mates and I got into were even worse.”

“Ha! I bet they were!” Dad finally noticed Niles, who was lingering awkwardly by the doorway. “Oh, hey, Niles. You just get here?”

“What? Yes.” Niles released the doorknob. “Hello, all.”

The stranger turned, then.

He was so sinfully handsome, it was as if he’d stepped right out of a silent film. Dark red hair fell loosely across bright blue eyes and radiant freckled skin. He had a strong jawline with a cleft chin, and the apple-cheeked smile he wore lit up the entire room.

Niles couldn’t even see past the fellow’s shirt collar and his heart was already hammering. “I—seem to be a bit dizzy,” he said, and promptly toppled sideways.

When he woke, the stranger was kneeling next to him, holding Niles’ face in one hand and flashing a tiny light into his eyes.

“Ow.”

“Don’t move. You’ve had a fall.” The light flicked up and down, then back and forth, across each eye. “Pupils look all right, so probably no concussion. Just follow my finger with your eyes. There you are.”

Niles did.

“What’s your name, love?”

“Niles. What’s—yours?”

The man smiled again, and pulled his hand away. “Daphne. Now tell me who the President is, and I’ll stop badgering you.”

Niles did, and without warning, Daphne lifted Niles up from the floor and over to the sofa, like he weighed little more than air.

Somewhere nearby, he could hear Dad’s voice, triumphant. “Think we’ve found our winner, Frais.”

 

1994

 

Suddenly everything was so clear: why Niles had never been interested in anyone in prep school, even in passing.

As a teenager, when the accusations came, he’d blurted out Lorna Lumley’s name by accident because all he could do around her was blush like a nitwit. But he had never imagined himself having a genuine chance with her, or even wanting one. And then, university: the same.

Even after he met Maris, and heard people talk about how funny they were and how funny they were together, Niles was sure he had finally stumbled upon what people talked about when they said _you must be made for each other._

But they weren’t, and he’d felt so alone.

And he hadn’t realized the truth until he met Daphne.

Several months after Daphne was hired, Niles spent an afternoon at Café Nervosa positively wallowing in biscotti and lattes. He’d been there at least two hours when his least favorite person in the world—apart from Kriezel the Weasel—spotted him sitting there.

“Hi, Niles,” Roz waved at him. The gleam in her dark eyes was positively predatory as she strode up to his table. “Gee, you look like death warmed over.”

“Whatever you want, I’m not in the mood.”

“What, did your boyfriend dump you or something?”

Niles opened his mouth to deny the insinuation, but couldn't. “How did everyone else pinpoint it before I did?”

Roz let out a guffaw, but quickly sobered when she saw the hurt on his face. “Oh, shit, you’re serious. Sorry. I’m not used to—you know.”

“Being nice to me,” Niles filled in acidly.

“You coming out of the closet,” she retorted.

“Oh, honestly! I’m not _coming out._ ”

“So you didn’t mean to blurt out that you think you might be gay?”

Niles said nothing, and averted his eyes to the table.

With a growl, Roz slung her purse over the back of the empty chair. “All right. Here’s what’s going to happen: I really need coffee, and we’ve got a show in an hour, so you better hold it together for two more minutes while I get the biggest mocha known to man. After that, we’re gonna talk, and I _swear to god_ , if you’re playing some kind of trick on me, I will beat you to death in your Mercedes with one of Maris’s custom-made wigs.”

“Paolo only creates hair-stravaganzas,” Niles pointed out glumly. “But all right.”

Half an hour later, he was very nearly regretting this decision.

“So you’ve never been turned on by a woman? Any woman?”

“Dear lord!” Niles hissed. “People can hear you!”

She glared at him.

“Fine,” he said sharply, and took another biscotti. Damn the calories. “For your information, I’m quite passionate about Maris, when we’re together.”

“So you sleep with your wife.” Roz gulped down more of her mocha. “You could still be gay. Big deal.”

Niles made an outraged face.

“What? Plenty of people in bad relationships still have sex. They fantasize about whoever they want while they’re getting off. I’m just saying.”

“You’re positing that I’m using our sacred marital intimacy to compensate for—for unrealized encounters? I cannot believe—the _audacity_ —how on earth would I even be able to consummate our marriage if I were—”

Roz put down her coffee cup with a thunk, and leveled him with a pitying expression. “All right. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but are you the only psychiatrist in the world who doesn’t know about the damn Kinsey scale?”

“What?”

“Kinsey scale,” she repeated in a flat voice.

“Yes, I know what it is! How do you—?”

She talked over him. “Look, your little stand-up routine aside, I’m not as stupid as you think I am. And I have met _a lot_ of closet cases who dated women, slept with women, got married, the whole nine yards. And they still came out, because eventually they realized they deserved more than getting two lackluster handjobs a year. I mean, isn’t that the kind of life you want, too?”

Niles put his head in his hands, torn between the deep desire to weep or laugh hysterically. It had only taken an identity crisis for him to stumble upon Seattle’s best-kept secret: apparently Roz Doyle, walking talking pheromone, could be a damn good sexual health psychiatrist if she ever put her mind to it.

 _Maris can’t even give those,_ was his only possible retort. _She’ll wrench her wrist again. Weak tendons._

“Anyway, I gotta go or your brother will rip me a new one.” She grabbed her coffee cup and her keys before giving him a more appraising look. “Will you be okay?”

Her concern was strangely touching.

“Just peachy,” Niles said tonelessly, and signaled the waitress for another biscotti. “Thank you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re welcome.”

 

1995

 

It took Niles months to process everything they’d discussed.

He skipped squash games, opera performances, wine tastings, and so many other events of the season that even Frasier noticed something was amiss.

“We’re just worried about you, Niles,” he said one night, when the three Crane men were alone in the apartment. Based on the way Dad kept making that terrifying listening face, raising both eyebrows and widening his eyes with all the subtlety of Groucho Marx, Niles was sure they’d practiced this conversation at least once before he’d arrived. “Is everything all right with Maris? Or—or the practice? You just don’t seem like yourself anymore.”

Niles laughed, a little, but it turned to tears within half a minute.

“I—I think I’m—no. I am. Frasier, I—I’m gay.”

Frasier’s eyes bulged out in shock.

Dad, sitting across from them in his hideous armchair, scrubbed at his neck with one hand. “Ah, jeez.”

“Yeah. Um. I know what you think about that, Dad. You were always worried that I would turn out to be, but then I got married. How—how could he possibly be one of _those people_ if he got married, right? When we were kids, you always said I wasn’t like any of the other boys, but I thought it was because I was a—a sophisticate—or because I liked opera—“

“Son—”

Niles had to get the rest of it out before he hyperventilated. “And I’m sure this is all very disappointing to hear, but just saying it out loud confirms my own—the reservations I’ve had for a very long time. It’s taken me so long to understand why Maris and I haven’t been happy. We’ve tried everything, and yet we just keep slipping farther and farther away from each other. All this time, I didn’t know what was wrong with me, and now I do.”

“Niles,” Frasier spoke up, carefully. “There isn’t anything wrong with being gay. Even Freud believed that.”

“I know,” Niles cleared his throat. “Least on some level, anyway. But not everyone agrees. They’ll say it’s unnatural. An abomination.”

“Don’t you think it’s premature to—?”

“And people will talk. You could lose friends. Or connections. Or—”

“All right.” Dad held up his hand in a way that meant _shut your yap._ “Now, Niles, shut up and listen. I may not be as cultured as some of your fancypants friends, but here’s what I can tell you. If anyone’s got a problem with you being anything, tell ‘em to eat dirt. You’re my son, it’s your life, and it’s none of their damn business. And that’s exactly what I’ll say if some nosy Nellie starts running their mouth.”

Frasier looked as stunned as Niles felt.

The front door opened, and Daphne stepped through with a laundry basket under one arm. He took one look at them and frowned in alarm.

“You all look so depressed! What’s the matter?”

Niles blurted it out before he could help himself.

“Daphne, I’m gay.”

A small pause. Daphne barely blinked, just set three freshly-folded stacks of t-shirts and polo shirts onto the coffee table.

“Oh, Dr. Crane.” Daphne gave him an encouraging smile. For a moment, his fingers brushed Niles’ shoulder. “Think it’s safe to say we all knew that. But I’m sure you’ll be out and about in no time.” He pulled his hand away and shifted the empty basket to his right hip. “Sorry to rush off, but I’ve got the whites in the dryer. We’ll chat more in a bit!”

He was gone before anyone was able to respond.

“Now see, _that’s_ the kind of reaction a man appreciates.” Dad punctured a finger at the closed door with an approving nod. “No fuss, no schmaltz, just a quick _got it_ , and he’s off to mind his business.”

“Yes, thank you, Dad,” Frasier sneered. “Once again, the entire point of this conversation has sailed right over your head.”

“Son, I think I know what the word gay means—”

“Well, _eureka,_ Watson; how kind of you to join us in the twentieth century—”

“And I love Daphne.”

In unison, Dad and Frasier both turned to stare at him.

“I’m—sorry?” Frasier’s voice cracked on the last word.

“He’s everything I could ever want. Kind. Affectionate.”

“Handsome,” Dad added, with a considering face.

“Dad!”

“Hey! I might not understand why your brother’d want to—” a small handwave and a groan “—with some other guy, but Daph’s a very handsome man.”

Frasier was agape. “I _beg_ your pardon?”

“What? He is! Looks kinda like Clark Gable, if Gable’d ever shaved off that mustache. And maybe had a thing for doing housework.“

_“Dad!”_

“Oh, dear god.” Niles put his head in his hands, let out a heavy sigh. “I’m going to go sit under the piano.”

 

1996

 

“How did you come to be called Daphne, anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever heard the entire story.”

Since Dad and Frasier were stuck in traffic after attending a late showing of _Casablanca_ , Niles and Daphne were enjoying a rare moment alone in Frasier’s apartment.

“Well.” Daphne just shrugged, and took a seat on the other end of the sofa, stretching his arm across the back of the sofa, toward Niles. “Fairly simple, really. Mum thought she were havin’ one last girl. So she got all the others to call me Daphne before I were even born—me Grammy Moon’s name. Saved it for the end. And then, once I popped out—a nice how do you do—she couldn’t get ‘em to stop. Don’t think _she’s_ ever even called me Daniel, now that I’m talking about it.”

A luminous flush bloomed across his cheeks.

“So you didn’t get angry with them at any point? Demand to be called something more traditional?”

“Suppose I could have done,” Daphne said slowly, and scratched under his jaw, idly. “Wouldn’t have been much point, though. I quite like it. Always have, really, even when the other lads tried to take the piss out of me.”

“That’s—lovely. Thank you for sharing the story. I had always assumed you were named after Jack Lemmon, or something.”

Daphne flashed him a grin. “You mean _Some Like It Hot_?”

“You know it?”

“One of my favorite pictures. God, I always thought Tony and Marilyn were so dashing together.”

“So did I!”

“Don’t see the German one it’s based on, though,” Daphne warned with a rueful shake of his head. “Or the French one before that. They’re both ghastly.”

“You’ve seen _Fanfares d’Amour_?” Niles gasped. “Everyone in prep school thought I was making that film up.”

“Oh! It’s one of my favorites. And my sister Jackie fancies it, as well. Billy Wilder’s, I mean. Not the other two; they’re hideous.”

“No, of course,” said Niles, but their mirth was interrupted by the front door opening.

“Evening, all.” Even from the doorway, Frasier was positively looming over the living room. “And just what are you two little birds twittering about?”

“Frais.”

“Now, Mr. Crane,” Daphne gave Niles a surreptitious wink as Martin shut the front door. “I’ve told you there’s nothing to worry about. I’d never set my cap at a married man.”

“Yeah, right. Tell that to Patrick Swayze,” Dad muttered as he went to hang up his coat. “You cry over that video every week.”

“ _I_ don’t _cry!_ ” Daphne objected loudly, and spun around so his voice carried down the long hallway. “And we wouldn’t watch it so much if Jennifer Grey’s leotard didn’t get you so bloody bothered!”

Dear lord. Niles pulled a face.

“Sherry, Niles?” Frasier interrupted.

“Oh, good lord, please.”

 

1996

 

“Come on, Dr. Crane, you’re never going to get it like that!”

Dressed in a tight black t-shirt paired with yellow-and-black plaid trousers, Daphne executed a flawless pirouette in the middle of the living room. How he was managing to wear that hellish eyesore of an outfit and still look breathtaking was far beyond Niles’ comprehension.

“I can learn the steps,” Niles countered, and tightened one of his suspenders, “just—not so fast. I’ll lose track of the rhythm.”

“You’re just being too hard on yourself. Don’t try so bloody much.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re all up in your head instead of letting your body dictate where you ought to move. Just relax, feel the rhythm, and see if you can have a nice time.”

Niles let out a gasp of a laugh. “I’m not going to say the joke I’m thinking about right now.”

Daphne gave him a fearless grin. “How’s this, then: if my stupid sister Bill can get the knack of it, then so can you. She’s got two left feet, plus a hammertoe from the time she kicked a concrete post.”

“Well,” sighed Niles. “Okay.”

“Now, from the top. Let’s go again.”

Together, they struck up the frame; Daphne with his divinely muscular arms was taking the lead, while Niles was playing the Argentinian coquette.

Originally, he’d been scheduled to bring Marjorie Nash to the Snow Ball as a favor, but she’d called and cancelled just minutes after his first dance lesson ended. And while Niles was terribly torn up about that—ha ha—he couldn’t bring himself to break the news to Daphne. He’d just been so _helpful_ about helping Niles learn to dance.

Hummed the tango under his breath as they glided across the carpet.

And he had the physique of a Greek god!

“Daphne, I—” Niles faltered as they began to promenade “—I’m afraid we won’t be able to do this much longer.”

“Your feet getting tired already?”

“No.” Niles tightened his fingers against Daphne’s waist, and steeled his nerves. “You see, it’s just that—Marjorie called earlier and—canceled. And now I—well—I’m afraid I don’t quite—well, there isn’t much point to going alone, is there?”

“So you won’t even try?” Daphne’s voice was softer than Niles had ever heard it. “Not even after all our lessons?”

“No, I know. I just don’t want to be alone at an event like this. Please. I can’t.”

“Well, you don’t have to be.” Daphne regarded Niles with a look so serious it stole Niles’ breath. “Let me come with you.”

Instantly, Niles flushed as red as a pomegranate. “What?”

“I could come with you,” Daphne repeated. “You know. As your date. No one’s got to know the difference.”

“Well, it’s—” Niles fumbled for an explanation “—don’t mistake me, I would be _honored_ —but I’m not exactly, well, out. In those circles, anyway.”

He didn’t think dating some of Roz’s more artistic friends counted as being out. Particularly since most of them were terrifyingly young and bohemian.

“Would you like to be?”

Niles blinked, stunned. “You would do that?”

“Course I would.” Daphne’s smile returned, wide and easy, as he pulled Niles into a hug. “Thick as a post, you are. You’ve been looking forward to this for a week. Don’t overthink it. Just take me instead.”

“Oh. Oh.” Niles practically melted into the embrace. “Daphne, it—I can’t tell you how much this means to me. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Well.” Daphne made a soft noise in the back of his throat as he drew Niles closer, so that they were practically standing cheek-to-cheek, still swaying a little in some semblance of dancing. “I don’t mind. Frankly, it’ll be nice to have a night out that doesn’t involve filling your brother’s prescriptions.”

“Hmph.” Niles’ eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled the spice of Daphne’s usual cologne. He wanted to bury his face in the crook of Daphne’s neck. “Frasier really must attend to his own errands. You’re too skilled for all that.”

A short, heavy silence.

“Erm, Dr. Crane?”

“Yes?”

Daphne let out a shaky breath. “You’re standing on my toes.”

Niles jumped backwards with a yelp.

 

**

 

In the ballroom, everything was different. He could feel pity radiating from everyone within ten feet of their place settings.

“Niles, dear!”

Oh, god. Niles’ heart sank as he heard Lacey Goforth-Whist’s nasal trill echoing across the bar. Two minutes into basic greetings and he wanted to throw himself through the nearest window.

“Positively everyone’s talking about your separation.”

“Oh, and how is positively everyone?”

“ _Devastated._ Andrew and I were just saying that—”

Without warning, Lacey jumped and made a high-pitched sound, as if she’d been stabbed with a pin. Niles turned just in time to see Daphne sauntering closer, flashing Andrew and Lacey with his most devastating smile as he adjusted his cufflinks.

“Hello. Were you ever going to bring me my champagne?” he asked Niles.

“I certainly was. Here you go.”

Niles passed him the glass, and repressed a shiver as their fingers brushed against chilled crystal.

“I—I’m sorry,” Lacey finally managed, clearly thrown. “Who are you?”

Daphne gave her a sly look as he lifted the champagne glass to his lips. “Didn’t Niles say so?”

Niles ducked his head to obscure the fact that he was blushing. “Hadn’t quite gotten to that.”

“I’m his date,” Daphne said merrily. “How do you do?”

Andrew choked on his drink. A small jet of scotch shot out of his nose as he started to cough.

The slack-mouthed gawp on Lacey’s face was worth enduring almost a year of slights and _poor-yous_ from the soireé set _._ She blinked and gave Niles a boggled look that he couldn’t quite read. “You—you two are—”

“Shocking, isn’t it?” Daphne said with a wink. “All right, there, Andy?”

Behind Lacey, Andrew was still red-faced and spluttering.

“Well, we’ll just leave you to your aspirations.” Niles turned to Daphne. “Shall we?”

“All yours.”

Niles couldn’t help laughing at the shock on Lacey and Andrew’s faces as he led Daphne over to the table, which was thankfully empty. “What was that for?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Daphne let out a sigh. “Just wanted them to stop treating you so badly, I suppose. Put on a bit of a show.”

“Well.” Niles considered the possibility, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that screamed _danger!_ “It doesn’t seem to be the worst idea in the world.”   

 

**

 

“Everyone’s staring at us,” Niles whispered breathlessly to Daphne as they took their seats again. He could hardly feel his feet in these wingtips, but Daphne was so ebullient that a few blisters seemed like a small price to pay.

“At you, more like.” Daphne took a deep drink of his champagne. “I’ve never seen you so confident. It’s like you’re a different person when you’re dancing.”

“Well.” Niles was about to fumble through some paltry explanation when the bandleader stepped up to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, a special request.”

“Oh, how odd. They don’t usually do those.” Niles was so busy scanning the crowd for a glimmer of recognition among the crowd that he almost missed Daphne, standing by his chair, holding out one hand.

“Come on, Niles.”

The string section struck up the first four notes of a familiar dance—the tango—and in a second, Niles was on his feet, stunned, practically floating on air as Daphne led him out to the parquet floor.

“What did you do?” he asked Daphne, who just smirked.

“You’ll see.”

They began to dance.

One, two, three, four—and as they danced, the music quickened to a frenetic pace. Together, they spun around the floor until the music changed again. Inexplicably, Daphne stepped backwards and assumed a flamenco pose; Niles assumed they were preparing for a promenade chase.

Instead, Daphne began to sing.

_His eyes upon your face…_

Niles’ eyebrows jumped up in shock.

_His hand upon your hand…_

Daphne stepped closer, and for a second, his gaze dropped to Niles’ mouth.

_His lips caress your skin; it’s more than I can stand!_

And suddenly they were dancing again, faster than before, pressed together in a whirling dervish as Daphne steered Niles expertly around the ballroom.

“Oh, Daphne,” Niles exclaimed, as the Englishman spun him out into a series of rapid pirouetting turns. “You’re—an Adonis!”

“Not me.” Daphne’s hand tightened around Niles’ waist, pulling him closer. “You.”

Combined with the proximity of their bodies, the sudden flash of heat in Daphne’s eyes made Niles a little dizzy, and so when Daphne let him go, and they began to promenade across the parquet, Niles blurted out something very stupid.

“I adore you!”

Daphne’s eyes lit up; the brilliance in his expression almost obscured the shock Niles knew was written all over his own face. “And I adore you.”

The music had reached its zenith. Without another word, Daphne reached out, gathered Niles into his arms again, and they performed about two or three steps before Daphne dipped him—so low to the ground that the crowd actually gasped.

Niles’s skin buzzed with anticipation. Blood rushed through his ears so loudly it sounded like they were alone in the ballroom. All he could do was reach up to kiss Daphne, cradling the man’s face in both his hands, as Daphne’s fingertips caressed the nape of Niles’ neck.

And then, without warning, it was over.

Daphne helped him to his feet. They parted at last. The entire crowd clapped.

Strangely, they spent the next forty-five minutes deluged in a sea of business cards, all from married women who insisted that they and they alone could persuade Daphne to change teams, or perhaps join them in a _private party_.

“You can’t seriously be thinking of calling any of these harpies,” Niles remarked in an undertone as they got into the car and shut the doors. “They’re not genuinely interested in either of us—simply trying to interest their closeted husbands.”

“I know,” Daphne murmured. When Niles glanced over, keys still poised in the ignition, he noticed the smile had fallen from Daphne’s face. “Not about us at all, really. But—” he forced more cheer into his voice “—we aren’t quite sure what they’re thinking, do we? Perhaps it’s not as bad as all that. They’re probably just looking for a bit of happiness after so many years spent in the dark.”

Niles didn’t think anyone in that group was looking for much other than a fresh kill, but he found that when Daphne said it, he wanted desperately to believe it. “That’s a very generous way to look at it.”

“Oh, Dr. Crane.” Daphne’s smile widened. “You always say the nicest things to me.”

Niles inserted the keys into the ignition and started the car. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “Well. If anyone deserves to hear nice things, it’s you.”

 

1999

 

Amid Niles’ separation, bankruptcy, the Shangri-La, the Montana, and a thousand other coffees and breakfasts and special occasions, Daphne became a wonderful constant in all of their lives.

He helped a panicked Roz move apartments just before Alice was born. He helped Frasier catch the eye of the enigmatic woman on the eighth floor—and subsequently helped smooth things over once it all ran to seed. He even went to McGinty’s with Dad every few months or so, lamenting loudly to all of the available women about how _brave_ his _wounded father_ had been _in the line of duty._

And then, Niles changed divorce attorneys, bringing Donna Douglas into their lives.

“Hey, dickwad.” Wearing a vibrant windbreaker so baggy it pooled around her knees, and sporting a headset with a small mouthpiece, Donna popped her gum loudly as she spoke. Niles was sure Maris’s entire law firm could hear it. “I’m calling about Niles Crane. Yeah. Did your client book a Hoverround tour through every Givenchy in America? Because there’s no way in hell we’re accepting an eight-month pre-trial period.”

“I can’t have this—this _loon_ represent me,” Niles sputtered to Frasier _sotto voce_ , as Donna continued to snap her gum between sentences. “I’ll be humiliated!”

“Um. Niles?” Frasier gestured with two fingers to indicate that he should listen to the scene unfolding in front of them.

“—gonna countersue for deliberate infliction of pain and emotional distress. And that’s not even the worst part. You wanna know what the worst part is, Geoff? Here’s a preview: I’ll cinch those dusty old balls of yours in a grip so tight you’ll wish Janice and friends had cut them off and had ‘em stuffed and mounted instead of just fracturing your ancient penile implant. Oh, yeah. It’ll make my ‘96 alimony injunction against York and McFadden look like a romp through a goddamn wheatfield. You _do_ remember what I did to York and McFadden?”

Niles’ eyes bugged out as Donna promptly unzipped the oversize windbreaker she was wearing, revealing nothing but a sporty brassiere and miniscule black shorts underneath. In that outfit, she looked like the lovechild of Demi Moore and Jayne Mansfield.

Next to Niles, Frasier actually squeaked a little.

“Uh huh. Oh, of course.” Donna gave them an exaggerated wink as she covered the microphone with one hand. “You guys have to hear him. This is priceless.”

She hit the speakerphone button on her receiver, and immediately, a thin, reedy voice echoed through the room.

“Now, Ms. Douglas, there’s—really no need to make such gauche threats against my person. Of course, my partner and I—naturally, we do understand that time is of the essence for both our clients in this matter—”

Niles and Frasier exchanged shocked looks.

Donna screwed up her face in a theatrical way and mimed silent, hysterical crying using two raised fists.

“I’m sure we could be ready for court by, um, next month?”

Instantly dropping the act, Donna popped her gum again, this time in an approving way, before hocking it right into the garbage. “Well, I guess my client could accept that timetable.”

“Does this mean you’re now representing Niles Crane, Ms. Douglas?”

She looked at Niles. Niles gave her a big smile and two thumbs up.

“Sure does, Whalen,” Donna said with a smirk. “You’re as sharp as ever. I’ll be in touch about a discovery schedule.”

 

**

 

Personally, Niles thought Donna was terrifying. So of course she and Daphne hit it off immediately.

“Donna’s just—so smart,” Daphne explained to Niles once, early on in his courtship of her. “And so impressive. I’ve never met anyone quite as accomplished as she is—present company excluded, of course.”

Niles laughed gamely at the joke, but inside he felt sick with fear.

Donna and Daphne kept seeing each other, practically moved in together, and eventually got engaged in the middle of a couples’ brunch with a diamond so big it was clear Donna had helped significantly with the purchasing process.

It was, without exception, the worst week of Niles’ life.

Naturally, he ended up at Nervosa with Roz, diluting his troubles with lattes.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Yeah, right.” Roz’s arched eyebrow was positively bursting with skepticism. “You know exactly what you should do, because you’ve been putting it off for almost a decade.”

“Just what, precisely, am I supposed to tell him at this point? Hello, Daphne, you’re the love of my life, and oh by the way, I should have mentioned it seven years ago?”

“He is a romantic,” Roz pointed out around the rim of her espresso cup.

“Oh. I should’ve just stayed with Jamie,” Niles said glumly. “He could have stored his toys in the west wing alcove, where no one would have seen them.”

This prompted a loud snort from across the table.

“Hey, they were _action figures._ And I highly doubt you’d have stayed with a man who voluntarily read comic books. Remember how much his mother _hated_ you?”

“Well, I still don’t see why she had to be so—oh—”

A handsome stranger bumped into the back of Niles’ chair, and caused Niles to sling coffee in three directions as he stumbled to his feet.

“Oh, my god! I’m so sorry.” The dark-haired stranger gracefully accepted the coffee cup Niles sloshed into his hand. “You poor man. You’re absolutely drenched.”

Niles let out a huff of a laugh, although his brain was still stuck on _panic now, panic now, dear god why aren’t we more concerned by this?!_

“Well.” He dabbed at his face with the one remaining clean corner of his handkerchief, and felt a little latte foam drip from his earlobe onto his shoulder. “Carafe attacks happen to the best of us.”

The stranger broke out into the most charming snicker, and put a soft hand to Niles’ shoulder before turning back to the bartender.

“Hey, Brenda, put another one of this guy’s drinks on my tab?”

“Sure thing,” the young barista said, just as Niles’ caught Roz’s devilish grin across the table.

“Well,” Roz announced sweetly—and Niles didn’t buy a minute of that innocence ballyhoo, “I’d stay and chat, but I’ve really got to run. Nice to meet you.”

She rounded the table and stuck out her hand.

“Oh! Sorry, it’s Mel.” The stranger quickly shook her hand before turning back to Niles. “My name’s Mel.”

 

2000

 

With Mel on his arm, Niles was happier than ever.

After all, Mel was so particular about his romantic partners. He wasn’t like so many gay men; he didn’t pursue a romp in the hay with anyone who so much as winked at him. Niles had to admit that yes, there was a certain amount of pride in knowing that Mel chose _him_ , out of everyone else in the crowd. And it was also refreshing to go out with someone who already knew everything about his social set—no awkward introductions or explanations were needed.

Not to mention that Mel, through his practice and the many charitable organizations their board supported, was considered quite a catch in the eyes of their peers. A little particular, perhaps, but sophisticated and charming in all the right ways. Certainly the kind of man with whom you’d be proud to be seen—the kind of man with whom you’d want to fall in love.

It was in this hopeful, giddy haze that Niles found himself flying to Toronto in the middle of the day, one fateful Wednesday afternoon. And because he had to share the news with someone—not Frasier, who’d blab it all over town—he called the one person who might share in their excitement.

“Oh, good,” Niles chirped when Roz picked up and he heard the sound of five or six car horns blaring in the background, accompanied by a high-pitched _Move it or woo-se it!_ from the backseat. Alice, judging by the lisp. “You’re in your car.”

“Yeah, and I’ve got about twenty more seconds before Alice throws a ring of Cheerios at the idiot in front of us, so make it fast. What’s up?”

“I don’t understand any part of that sentence.” Niles blinked, and finally collected himself. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m calling to tell you something important.”

“Why, did you finally—?”

Niles didn’t wait for her to finish the sentence. “Mel and I are getting married. In Toronto. There’s a justice willing to perform civil unions, and we don’t know how long it’ll last, so we’re flying out now.”

A long, long pause.

“Are you out of your mind?”

He yanked the phone away from his ear and scowled down at the buttons for half a second before putting it back. “I beg your pardon?”

“What about Daphne?” Roz demanded. “I mean, Jesus. What about—“ a heavy sigh “—look, do you not understand what this thing with Mel even is?”

“We are in love,” Niles said tightly. “And you know that.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been watching Daphne throw himself at Ms. Double Ds for eight months, and now you’re just trying to prove that you don’t need him.” A hissed curse. “No, Alice! Come on. Mommy just got that back from the dry cleaners.”

Niles could hardly hear the usual commotion over the ringing in his ears. “I hardly—how dare you foist such a—a baseless accusation upon us!”

“Please,” Roz said, all acid. “How about when Mel finds out he’s nothing but a cheap substitute for the guy you really love? You really gonna—”

“Don’t you dare lecture me about taking chances. You have no idea—no _idea—_ how meaningful this occasion is to both of us.”

“Yeah, because you’ve _clearly_ thought about everything. No way you’d run off to the altar with the first man who doesn’t flinch when you’re in bed together.”

Niles’s reply was venomous. “At least the men I take to bed don’t consider the evening less meaningful than a hopover at Sea-Tac.”

No answer. He shut his eyes to block out the bitter silence that followed.

“Fine. You know what? Your fucking funeral,” Roz said, and hung up.

Hours later, as the third and last same-sex couple to be married that day, Niles joined hands with Mel and forced back sudden tears as the judge led them through their vows.

 _I do love him,_ Niles thought as he traced both thumbs across Mel’s fine-boned hands, the pads of his fingers tracking pale lines of blue veins as they disappeared behind Mel’s shirt sleeves. He studied the cowlicks of dark curly hair that Mel had combed behind one ear, met Mel’s bright blue eyes in the stark neon glow of the judge’s City Hall chambers. When Mel smiled at him - not the small, tight smile he reserved for entertaining guests, but the genuine grin of someone who was right where they wanted to be - Niles decided for the umpteenth time that day that Roz was wrong. _I’m so happy we’re together._

 

**

 

Apparently, no one else was.

Frasier’s response was typical: passive-aggressive platitudes couched in self-pity. _Well, I must confess I thought we meant more to each other than that. Niles, you didn’t even tell me things were this serious between the two of you!_

Dad was disappointed. He didn’t say so, but Niles could see it in his face: unhappy, resigned.

At least one person seemed relatively excited. Upon hearing the news, Donna screeched out loud, bounded over to kiss Niles and then Mel on the cheek, and promptly disappeared to grab a bottle of chilled champagne from the kitchen.

Mel immediately went to fetch a few glasses. Niles tried not to probe Daphne’s reaction, but the gesture was old habit, and so when he turned to the Englishman, a question in his eyes, he couldn’t help giving a little self-deprecating shrug.

“Well, what do you think?”

Daphne’s mouth pursed into an _o._ “I-I—must admit, it’s such a surprise.”

“Hm, I suppose it would be, wouldn’t it.” None of the people Niles knew – queer, gay, lesbian, or otherwise - had ever considered marriage. Not from a truly legal perspective, anyway. “From the outside, it must seem very strange.”

“Yeah. To be honest, I never pictured you as the type to elope, either.” Daphne scratched at his cheek. “Sorry. You know I—well.” He swallowed, seemingly lost for words. “Just want you to be happy, that’s all.”

Touched, Niles opened his arms, automatic, and he and Daphne shared a brief hug before Daphne pulled away, ducking his head to obscure his reaction from Niles’s eyes. A smile? A wince? Niles couldn’t quite tell from this angle, and then he mentally kicked himself for scrutinizing the other man so closely.

_You’re married now. Let it go._

“Got to go check on the knickers. Erm. Laundry. Back in a tic.”

As the door opened and closed, there was a loud _pop!_ from the kitchen, a champagne cork whizzed under the coffee table, and not long afterward, Donna emerged with the bottle, face shining with delight as she shook a few stray droplets of champagne off her right hand.

“God, can you believe how lucky we are?” she asked Niles, as she poured him a generous glass. “Just think: if we’d never met, none of this would have happened.”

They toasted. Niles spent the first ten minutes of this impromptu soireé practically drowning in his champagne, and after a little while, it was easy to imagine that the bubbles in his stomach were all part of the rush of excitement he felt whenever Mel looked at him.

The blush of love was so overpowering that until the door opened and shut, Niles had almost put Daphne’s absence out of his mind. But when the door opened, Donna put two hands over her mouth in alarm, drawing everyone's attention back to his return.

“Shit! Oh, babe, your eyes!”

Daphne did look rather worse for wear; his swollen eyes and bright red nose were obscured by a patchy, painful-looking flush that crept all over his cheeks. And the poor man sounded very congested.

“S’better than it looks, promise.”

Dad narrowed his eyes, already trying to solve the puzzle despite being deep into his third Ballantyne. “Mrs. Peterson bring those damn cats on the elevator again?”

“Yeah.” Daphne swiped at his nose with a loud, wet sniff. “Got me. Um. I’ll just go and have a lie down. Congratulations again.”

“Of course,” Niles said.

Mel was equally gracious. “Feel better, dear.”

Daphne took his leave, and Donna scurried after him, her high heels clicking loudly on Frasier’s prized hardwood floors. “Here, babe, let me grab you a cold washcloth. I swear to god, I’m looking up the health and safety codes. That old bat shouldn’t be allowed to pull this kind of stunt, you know? Honestly, it’s got to be some kind of—”

The door clicked closed.

 

**

 

All of a sudden, Daphne’s wedding had arrived.

If Niles had ever thought growing up with eight sisters seemed easier than growing up with Frasier, he quickly found out the error of that hypothesis.

“I’m so _fucking_ drunk!” Far across the bar, Donna took a shot without using her hands, and screeched in glee once she pulled the empty glass away from her mouth. “Here’s to you, Moon girls!”

Sara — or maybe Nigella? — led the bachelorette group and the nearby bar patrons in a round of raucous chanting. “Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!”

Donna quickly downed a mug of beer, to more cheers, and yelped, “Live long and prosper, babes!” before burping loudly and wobbling off her barstool toward the ladies room, pulling Nigella and Amanda along with her.

Niles did his best to hide in a corner, and not to meet anyone’s eyes, but soon enough, someone he couldn’t avoid cornered him.

“Hey, guy,” Dad walked up to the nearest bartender, slid a mug flecked with froth up to the edge of the counter, and hooked his cane on the end of the bar. “Mind grabbing me another Ballantyne?”

And next to Dad, of course, was Roz.

“Jack and Coke for me,” she told the bartender, and tossed her clutch onto the lacquered counter. “Make it a double.”

“I see you’ve lost Frasier,” Niles said first, because that seemed a likely possibility with all of Daphne’s sisters in the mix.

Roz rolled her eyes. “Yeah, pretty sure Michelle’s kidnapped him.”

“And you’re not over there why?”

“Cause that ancient old witch won’t leave me alone,” Dad groused.

Ah. Daphne’s mother. Enough said.

“Lovely.”

“Sure,” Roz let out a snort as the bartender placed a drink in front of her. “Although, seeing her try to hook you wasn’t as scary as seeing Nigella get that lap dance. She stores a _lot_ of weird stuff in that jacket. Including a ball—”

“No, no. Let’s not share details we can’t take back.”

Dad and Roz slid into their seats, and for another second, no one spoke.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Niles finally sighed to Roz.

“What, that you were a total asshole?”

Next to her, Dad just shook his head, a knowing smirk on his face.

Roz just shrugged. “You said some fucked-up things to me, and I didn’t deserve that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“And I should probably throw that stupid glass of sherry right in your face before I do something nice for you again.”

“It’s champagne. But by all means.”

“Great.” Roz gave Dad a hammy, exasperated look. “So, Martin, you want to say it, or should I?”

“Come on. We agreed we weren’t gonna say anything.”

“Hell no! That was Frasier, and he’s about eight seconds away from coming over here to butt in.”

“Let me guess,” Niles began, but Roz cut him off with a raised hand.

“Do you seriously want to spend the rest of your life wondering what you could have had with Daphne? Why you didn’t even try?”

“Roz.”

“No, shut up. This is serious. Your marriage—” she bit her lip, started again. “I know you care about Mel. He’s worldly and charming and you like the way people treat you when you’re with him. But you don’t love Mel the way you love Daphne.”

“I’m not hearing any of this,” Dad said loudly.

“Of course I love my husband—I—”

“Daphne knows how you feel.”

The words were like a blow to the stomach.

_“What?”_

“Daphne _knows_ , and he feels the same way about you.”

“Would you look at that, Pippa’s waving at me. Gotta go!” Dad’s chair squeaked loudly as he got up, grabbed his beer, and practically ran away, his cane squeaking on the hardwood as he hobbled off.

Niles was still too thunderstruck to respond.

Roz's eyes flicked to his. “You hear what I said?”

“Yes, but that—it can’t possibly be—oh, my god, Daphne's looking over here. Roz, he’s coming over.”

Seized by the urge to flee, Niles grabbed his drink and bolted.

 

**

 

By the time Niles had stopped wheezing, hidden up in Frasier’s room, Daphne had already found his hiding spot.

“Dr. Crane, are you all right?”

“Yes.” Niles found he was so anxious his knees wouldn’t hold him, so he just kept his place at the loveseat at the foot of one twin bed. “Well. Actually, no.”

“What’s the matter?”

Niles laughed without humor. “Shouldn’t I be the one checking in on you? It is your wedding weekend, after all.”

“Oh, come on.” Slowly, Daphne walked over, and took his place on the opposite loveseat. “Might as well be both of ours, all things considered.”

Niles counted to three before answering, sure that his tongue would betray him at any moment. But before he’d cleared _two_ _Mississippi_ , Daphne kept talking.

“I’m fit to burst right now, really. Although I‘m sure you felt just as nervous the day you and Mel got married. Probably bustled up to Toronto, giddy and excited, just enjoying being in love. I hope my honeymoon’ll be like that. It’ll be nice to be as—as happy as you and Mel—”

Niles could bear it no longer. “Daphne, I’m in love with you.”

Daphne stopped talking; his mouth half-open in mid-sentence. Niles pressed ahead before he lost his nerve.

“And I never would have married Mel if I had known how you felt. Roz told me that you’d—”

Without warning, Daphne jumped up from the loveseat, feigned a step right toward Niles, and then reconsidered, bolting left instead. Was it Niles’s imagination, or were Daphne’s hands shaking?

“Oh, my god. Why would she—?”

“I know this is terribly unfair.”

“She should never have done that!”

“But she did, and I—I’m so grateful that I know about it now. I can’t pretend otherwise.”

“But you’re married!” Daphne burst out first. “Even if it’s not legal here, you went to Toronto. You made Mel a promise!”

“I know I did.”

“And now you just want me to—to do what? Run away with you? After you’ve been married three days and I’m twelve hours from a wedding of my own?”

In vain, Niles tried for humor. “Is it terrible to say I actually hadn’t considered what would happen next?”

Daphne’s face blanched white, to the extent that Niles was obliged to revise this comment, lest it be taken seriously.

“I'm sorry. That was meant to be facetious.”

“Don’t. Oh, Christ. I can’t laugh about this,” Daphne began to cry. Putting one hand over his mouth, he made a beeline for the nearest balcony.

Niles followed in a panic.Gauzy curtains flew into his face as he opened the door and stepped outside.

It was a beautiful evening. The warm, comfortable summer air smelled like jasmine and honeysuckle, and a slight breeze stirred the trees. Framed at the corner of the balcony, Daphne should have looked out of place, considering he was in tears and clearly miserable. But watching the man standing there, Niles wanted to take him into his arms and never let go.

Quickly, Niles closed the door behind them, and when he did so, Daphne’s head jerked up.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and swiped at one eye with the back of his hand. “I just—you’re asking so much—and I’m supposed to get married tomorrow—”

“I know you’re upset. I know that. But I am _wildly_ in love with you, Daphne. I don’t know what we’ll do about Donna, or Mel, or anything else. I just want us to be together. If—well, if you’ll have me.”

The light in Daphne’s eyes was almost feverish. He let out a loud sniff. “Fucking hell. I mean, we’ve never even been on a date!”

“No, we haven’t.”

“You might hate the way I eat potatoes. Or file my taxes. And then—” another plaintive sniff “—then what’ll you do?”

“Anything,” Niles told him. “As long as we can be together.”

Daphne still didn’t seem convinced, and began to pace up and down the far side of the balcony. “Well—I-I never quit smoking, you know. Sometimes I still get up in the middle of the night and have a cigarette on your brother’s terrace.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“And I’m rubbish at acting all high and mighty. I’ll probably always say something stupid at your smart parties. You’ll always be elbowing me to shut up.”

“I don’t care.”

Daphne set his jaw, nodded once, like he was processing all of this very deeply. “And I — I’ve always wanted children. Even now. I want to be a father.”

_Oh._

Niles spread his hands, voice breaking on a desperate laugh as he tried to act casual. “We can adopt some.”

This drew a shocked stare. Quickly, Niles tried to find an alternative that Daphne could agree with. Perhaps he was saying he wanted to have natural children. Maybe that’s why he was so determined to marry Donna.

“Or perhaps we could find a very forbearing lesbian to lend assistance. According to Roz, plenty of women now take on surrogacy as a paid profession. Ahem. The surrogates become quite maternal toward the resulting child, or so I’ve read. There was actually a study in the American Journal of—”

“Oh, for god’s sake, shush!”

Daphne rushed forward, took Niles’s face in his hands, and kissed him, hard. It was so unexpected and so glorious that Niles could hardly breathe. For a moment, all he could feel was the pull of Daphne’s calloused fingers at the back of his hair, and the soft, heady brush of Daphne’s mouth against his.

And then, just like that, it was over.

Daphne pulled back, slightly out of breath, staring at Niles like the man had just shocked the daylights out of him. “Dr. Crane.”

“I—“ Niles was unable to finish the sentence. “That was—”

Daphne’s hands shook as he let go, put space between them. His face crumpled again, but no tears fell this time. “Niles, it—it’s too much.” He placed a closed fist against his chest; wrenched it back down to his side with an agonized noise. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Niles finally knew what people meant when they said they felt _gutted_. The words sliced through his innards, left him reeling and lifeless with shock; so much so that he didn’t even hear Daphne leave or close the balcony door behind him.

All he could do was drop to a seated position, right there on the concrete, and lean his head back against the cold stone banister, panting out shallow breaths, trying not to weep.

 

**

 

Alone in the Winnebago, with six minutes to go until the wedding began, Niles let out a forlorn sigh as the side door crashed open. He didn’t even bother to turn around.

“You forgot Maggie’s beer, didn’t you, Dad?”

“No,” said a familiar voice.

Niles glanced backwards, stunned, and saw Daphne framed in the doorway. Even standing near the horrid pastel-print walls and vivid orange shag carpet, the man was radiant in a cream-colored jacket, matching vest, dark bowtie, and black trousers.

“Feel a bit like the ice-cream man,” was all Daphne said, flushing slightly as he glanced down at his formal attire.

Niles was already bolting to the door, pulling him into his arms.

“You look wonderful,” he gasped, choking up when Daphne’s fingers curled tightly into his suit jacket, and he put his head on Niles’s shoulder.

This lasted for only a few seconds before he straightened up.

“Come on. Let’s get the bloody hell out of here!”

 

**

 

The Douglas/Moon wedding, brief as it was, began with Donna teetering through the main aisle like a mascara-streaked Medea in four-inch stilettos, pouring poison into the crowd through great gasping sobs; and ended with Niles getting pushed into the nearby champagne fountain by a sputtering, stung Mel.

Niles still felt that they had done the right thing by breaking off these relationships in person, even if he and Daphne had become more awkward and hesitant around each other than ever before.

After a few days, alone for a quick meal at Frasier’s – the first time they’d been truly alone since all of this began – they tried to process the aggravations, big and small, in a way that made sense. Discuss things rationally.

And then Daphne licked a bit of butter from the pad of his thumb, mid-meal, Niles saw it and fumbled his glass of sherry as it was halfway to the table—and suddenly, all rational thoughts fled from their minds.

“Oh, Jesus,” Daphne whimpered as Niles got down on his knees, right there at the kitchen table, so desperate to have him that his mouth actually watered. “Niles, we’ll get caught, your brother might— _oh!”_

They didn’t get caught. It was fast and messy and reckless, and by the time Daphne tugged Niles down the small hallway to his bedroom, left the door wide open behind them, there was no space between them.

“You’re so beautiful,” Daphne kept whispering, over and over, as he helped Niles tug his undershirt over his head, snuck a hand into his fly, kissed him hard, like he was a man in the desert dying of thirst.

On the bed, when Niles got a leg over Daphne’s hips, ground into him, Daphne groaned out loud, and dragged one palm against the flat of Niles’s belly, where a fine trail of blonde hair dipped down below his waistband.

“Don’t make me wait.” Daphne’s blue eyes were blown wide as he stared up at Niles, his mouth pink and puffy and his face flushed as red as his hair. “Please.”

“Now,” Niles swore, and leaned down to kiss him again. “Now.”

 

**

 

True to her word, Donna went on the warpath.

Frasier went to talk her out of it, failed miserably, and possibly ended up sleeping with her in some kind of awful quid pro quo, based on the guilty, chastened expression that inevitably twisted his mouth every time they mentioned her name.

Eventually, after much angst and gnashing of teeth, she disappeared from the Seattle social scene.

However, Mel was another matter entirely.

He refused to grant Niles a divorce until the Canadian lower courts heard a joint legal petition from the three same-sex couples whom had married that day, protesting that they had a chance to legalize all same-sex marriages throughout Ontario--not just their own. And so, Niles endured three months of fake wedding receptions and gala dinners and other occasions where he played the worst sort of cad.

Eventually, even the idea of torching such a landmark case wasn’t enough to pacify him; Niles lost his temper completely, and ended up screaming at Mel in the middle of Frasier’s little networking soireé.

“I am _through_ playing your fool. I love Daphne and I’m not going to do this to him anymore. As of right now, as far as I’m concerned, the only thing keeping you and I married is that damn court petition!”

“I never added our names,” Mel said faintly.

_“What?”_

“I never added our names,” Mel repeated, his voice gaining strength as he glanced around the room. “By the time they approached me, you’d already gone off with that pretty boy.” He turned to the room. “You—you all see what I’ve had to put up with. I tried my best to make this marriage work, but I’ve been so alone. And all our friends thought we had something they would never get for themselves—”

Mel covered his mouth with one hand, and was quickly consoled by the Fischers and the rest of the board.

“Don’t worry, Karnofsky,” Ted growled, as the board members gathered their wraps and coats, and the Fischers shepherded Mel towards the elevator. “We’ll make sure that jackass is out of your life by the end of the week!”

“Thank you!” Niles called after them, but the door had already closed.

 

2002

 

Daphne didn’t regret leaving Donna. Even if he and Niles weren’t legally married in the eyes of the law, that was all right, wasn’t it? They didn’t need to be. They just loved each other, and that was enough.

It wasn’t until Niles was being wheeled down a hospital corridor on a gurney, pale and shaky, scrawling his signature on a clipboard held in place by a nurse, that Daphne felt a cold burst of fear shoot through his stomach.

_I could lose him_

_I could lose everything_

They had barely a minute together before the doctors wheeled Niles into the operating room. Niles just reached out, took his hand.

“You know where my important papers are. Top left drawer in my desk.”

“No, you’re not gonna leave me, are you? I’ll be here.”

“I know.” Niles tightened his grip on Daphne’s hand.

The orderly murmured something that Daphne couldn’t catch, and began to wheel Niles’ bed through the double doors.

“I’ll be right here,” Daphne called again, as the doors swung shut.

Four and a half hours later, even though Martin and Frasier and Roz had rushed over to be here with him, Daphne couldn’t stop thinking about the worst. His Niles – his soulmate – grey and unconscious on a steel table with his chest cut open, and a machine breathing for him.

When Frasier and Martin got into a tiff about a stuck Chunky bar in the vending machine, Daphne’s control snapped.

He hit the side of the machine with one fist, first, and when this didn’t do anything, he hit it again and again—putting his shoulder into it—until suddenly, four hands dragged him backwards.

Daphne looked down. His knuckles were bleeding. The machine was tipped precariously against the wall.

“Oh.” His voice wobbled; he put shaking fingers to his mouth. “’M sorry.”

Roz pressed some gauze into his hands, while Frasier made a few excuses to an orderly who’d come over to scold them. Daphne didn’t hear a word she said, but when the woman walked away, Frasier joined them.

“Daphne, we’re all worried sick about Niles, but if you consult the pamphlets—”

“I don’t care about the bloody pamphlets!” Daphne bellowed. “The love of my life is being cut open in there, and you’re out here babbling about fucking card stock! It’s not okay! _I’m not okay_ until he’s home with me, all right?”

“Easy,” Martin led him back to the sofa. “Come on, Daph. Sit down for a sec.”

Roz tugged at Frasier’s elbow. “Let’s just—go get some coffee. Something.”

Frasier looked like he wanted to argue, but for once, he didn’t say a word, and Roz led him away without much fuss.

Now alone with Martin, Daphne swiped a fist across his eyes. “’M sorry. I know you don’t like people making scenes, but I juh—just—”

“Daph.” Martin held up a hand. “Listen. Frais didn’t mean anything, with all that brochure talk.”

“I know.”

“He’s scared as hell. Just like the rest of us.”

“God, I hate all of this,” Daphne whispered, and put his head in his hands. “I just—he’s got to be all right, yeah? I just need him to be all right.”

“Yeah.” Martin placed a hand on his shoulder, and cleared his throat. “I know.”

 

THE NEXT DAY

 

“Helloooo.” Niles tried to toss his Archie comic to one side before reaching out for Daphne; his reach was so pitiful that the comic just flopped over once and slid into the floor. He’d slept for over twenty-four hours. “You’re really pretty.”

“Flatterer.” Daphne leaned in, squeezed his hand. “You’re the pretty one, hm?”

Niles let out a slurred giggle. “I’m pretty.”

In the corner, Martin snorted. “Pretty blitzed, sure.”

“Ah, he’ll be up and about in no time. Won’t you, love?”

“Yeah, he will.” Niles nodded gravely, then made a surprised noise as the door to his room opened. “Oh my—goodness. Rozalindaaaa.”

Roz rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched up in a smile. “Good to see you, too, Niles.”

“Did Rozniak explode?” Niles gaped at her, narrowed his eyes. “Your hair looks weird.”

“Yeah? Well, this thing still looks better than you.” Roz shifted in her seat, and began to finger-comb the back of her hair. After a minute or so, she rolled up the sleeves of her worn grey sweatshirt so they looked more like cuffs. Daphne wondered which boyfriend that was nicked from. “Anyone have any coffee?”

“We thought you were bringing some. Didn’t you go to Niles’s place?”

“Oh. No, we just, uh. Let Eddie out. Checked on Alice.”

The door opened again; Frasier strode in, looking fairly subdued in a dark collared shirt and jacket.

“Morning, all.” He gave them a thin-lipped smile. “Hi, Niles.”

“Frasier!” Niles lowered his voice to a whisper. “I didn’t break my leg this time. Don’t tell Dad.”

"Ah." Frasier’s smile widened. “I won’t.”

“And Roz’s wearing something called a _sweatshirt._ ”

“Yes. I, um, see that.” Frasier cleared his throat. He didn’t quite look at Roz as he addressed the room. “Coffee, anyone?”

 

2003

 

“ _Fucking_ Julia,” Roz snarled as she tipped her wine glass to her mouth, half-reclining, half-lying on the leather sofa in Niles’ living room. “She’s all he ever talks about these days. Julia said this, and Julia said that. Blah blah blah. You know she’s not serious about him. She doesn’t even like him. Harpy.”

Niles cradled his rocks glass in two hands, took a small sip of club soda. “Is this where I’m meant to nod and agree, or do you want my honest opinion?”

Roz cut him a glare. “Listen, Spitzer, I didn’t pay for a session.”

“Oh, well, in that case, everything’s simply peachy. You’re not projecting feelings of inadequacy at all. I wonder how that Egyptian vacation is going.”

“Shut up.”

A knock on the door.

Niles gestured toward Roz’s wine glass. He had a fairly good idea who might be on the other side. “Here. I’ll refill you if you’ll go answer that.”

She swung her legs down to the floor with a huff. “Fine by me.”

Niles checked his watch as he strode into the kitchen, uncorked the bottle of Chateau Petrus Roz had been enjoying, and poured her a generous measure.

Already, Niles could hear Frasier in the great room, voice soft and panicked.

“—ultimatum—didn’t know you even—”

And Roz, whispering in a furious hiss. “Well, I don’t! And if you’d listen to me for one second—just _one. fucking. second,_ Frasier, you’d—”

Silence. A small clatter. A gasp. Shuffling footsteps on the hardwood.

Carefully, Niles peeked through the swinging door and saw Roz yank Frasier through the study doorway by his shirt, just before she pulled him down into a searing kiss. The thick door slammed shut behind them—or perhaps someone had been slammed into it.

He wasn’t going to stay to find out.

Niles set Roz’s wine onto her coaster, and went upstairs to find Daphne, who was lying in bed with all the lights on and a book of poems facedown on the covers; shirtless and coocooned in blankets.

He rolled left and gave Niles a sleepy grin. “Hiya. Roz go home, then?”

“No.” Niles crossed over to the bed, dropped a kiss into his partner’s hair. “And Frasier will likely be here for breakfast in the morning.”

“Mmkay.”

Daphne was already drifting off again, eyes fluttering closed.

“Sleep well,” Niles said with a smile, and turned off the bedside lamp.

 

 

2005

 

“Hey, has anyone seen Eddie’s bandana?” Dad called out, neck-deep in the trunk of the Mercedes. “Don’t tell me I left it at the house!”

Niles looked at Daphne, who pulled an alarmed face.

Thankfully, Ronnie was unflappable as always. She plucked the rainbow-flag striped cotton from her fanny pack and sauntered back toward the rear of the car.

“Here you go, babe. Now he’ll fit right in.”

“Oh, great! Eddie, come here, boy!”

Niles retucked the tail of his screenprinted t-shirt, emblazoned with the words _Seattle Pride 2005: Out And About._ He and Daphne were sporting matching designs this time, although Niles had added a couple of jaunty badges to his, including one for the Association of Gay and Lesbian Psychiatrists, as well as a pink triangle.

“Have we seen Roz yet?” Daphne checked his watch as he pulled their handmade signs out from the backseat.

“Nope, but something tells me they’ll—” a loud screech of tires interrupted Niles’s counterfactual “—oh, never mind. Here they are.”

A minute later, tiny footsteps slammed against the garage floor, and these were met by Dad’s delighted yell.

“Hey, kiddo! Look who it is.”

“Oma! Grandpa!” Privately, Niles thought Dad loved Alice best out of all his grandchildren—mostly because she was the only one in their family who appreciated Eddie as much as he did. “Oh, _wow_ , Eddie looks beautiful!”

“Well, what about me? It’s a special occasion, you know. I put on my favorite flannel for this thing.”

Alice’s shiek of laughter echoed through the whole parking lot.

“Hi, guys,” Roz called as she waddled past the trunk and toward the driver’s side door. “Alice, sweetie, hold on to that leash. I need to talk to your uncle.”

Niles quickly took Roz’s gigantic purse from her, and kissed her cheek. “Hello. How’s the little one today?”

“Finally settling down.” She put one hand to her swollen belly with a sigh; the pregnancy was now very visible through her bright pink tank top. Light glinted off of her platinum wedding band. “Think she’s training for the World Cup or something.”

“Well, she certainly wouldn’t get it from me,” Niles quipped as he handed her a water bottle plus a greasy paper bag which contained her favorite pregnancy food – something called a McRib. “But let’s not get Daphne’s hopes up. Here.”

“Morning, all!” Frasier’s buoyant exclamation was cut short by a choked noise. “Oh, dear god, Dad, what the hell is Eddie wearing?”

“Hey, excuse me for wanting him to have a little pizzazz. You know, those pink poodles try to show him up every year!”

“Yes, and the poodles have a _parade float_ , Dad. Of course they—”

“You know, I made that bedazzled hat myself,” Ronnie quipped.

Not to be shown up, Alice stomped her patent Mary Janes against the pavement. “Daddyyyyyy, where’s my sign? I need my sign!”

“Sweetheart, give Dad a minute to chill.” Roz gave Niles a knowing look, and walked around to the trunk of the car. “Frasier, honey, where did—”

“Oh, well, yes—it’s right over there—”

“All right, love?”

Niles glanced up and across the car hood. Daphne stood there with a half-smile on his face, and a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh,” Niles relaxed. “Yes, just daydreaming. Ready to go when you are.”

Daphne extended his hand; a silver celtic knot ring sat against his third finger. Niles walked around the car and took it, but not before leaning in for a very quick kiss; his free hand brushing against his husband’s waist.

“Happy pride, my love.”

“And to you,” Daphne murmured back.

 

 

FIN

 

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY. So I got super inspired by the **daphnemoon** Frasier community on tumblr, as they and several others submitted various headcanons about gay!Niles. One day, someone mentioned that if Niles were gay, he'd still end up with Daphne, but Daphne would be played by Ewan McGregor.
> 
> .....this fic kind of took off from there. Sorry not sorry. I tried to pay as many homages as I could to my favorite episodes - although tragically I could not work in any Lilith cameos, or references to "The Ski Lodge." 
> 
> They're calling again!


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